


overbearing

by casualbird



Series: ukai gets wrecked [3]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Coming Untouched, Dom/sub Undertones, Face-Sitting, Fluff and Smut, GET IT TAKE-CHAN, M/M, Oral Sex, Praise Kink, Trans Male Character, either too dirty to be as sappy as it is or too sappy to be as dirty as it is, sensei in the streets sensei in the sheets
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-13
Updated: 2020-11-13
Packaged: 2021-03-10 02:08:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,615
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27536560
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/casualbird/pseuds/casualbird
Summary: “Easy,” he says, on a tremoring breath. The thing is, though, Keishin can’t. It’s just the way of things--here he is with Ittetsu, and Ittetsu makes him soft and strange, makes him forget how to do things by halves.
Relationships: Takeda Ittetsu/Ukai Keishin
Series: ukai gets wrecked [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2003683
Comments: 15
Kudos: 132





	overbearing

**Author's Note:**

  * For [danny the light of my life](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=danny+the+light+of+my+life).



> hi hi! standard Advisory that takeda is the transest person on earth, and that i use masculine-coded language to describe his Situation. i hope this is cool and chill for everyone!

Laid out against his side, Ittetsu’s stable breathing is a model for his own, one he follows with the diligence of a playbook. Slow, eased, punctuated with lazy wide-mouthed kisses at his shoulder.

“Is everything alright, Keishin?” His voice is light like summer sheets, with the definite air that it’d be alright if everything wasn’t. That he’d be there, still.

It _is_ alright, though--Keishin gives a little nod, a little hum, tells him he only needed a second. It’s getting late, now, and he’d worked all three jobs today, and had scarcely time to catch his breath before he was following Ittetsu home, scarfing his cooking and kissing his neck, trying mightily to take all of his compliments. Before he’d been guided gentle to his bed, before he’d undressed him and kissed the scars on his chest, before he’d held him close and brought him off with fumbling fingers.

Before he’d been _rewarded,_ such as it was, with the soft press of Ittetsu’s thigh, drawn coyly away at just the right instant to make him wrack, make him ache in a way he was going to have to swallow his pride and ask for more of.

All that, and still he lies with the promise of _more_ in his lap, and he wants it and wants it and wants it.

He sighs, and wonders how Ittetsu has made him this way, and adores it. Shifts up onto one elbow, kisses his forehead, mouths _c’mon_ into soft-lined skin.

Ittetsu smiles at him, wide with all of his intrepid sweetness, and Keishin near about has to lie back down again.

He wouldn’t, though, not for anything, not when fingertips are teasing at the waistband of his boxers, not when Ittetsu lilts “you do want it, don’t you?”

“Hell yeah,” he says, though it rasps on the way out. Still, his dear isn’t quite convinced--he rarely is, so careful.

“We don’t have to just because we talked about it. If you’re tired, we could go to bed, or make love some other way.” His voice is gentle-timbred, earnest.

Keishin laughs, because who says that? Only Ittetsu, _his_ Ittetsu would say it like that, so cheerily uncool that it just takes him in that much deeper.

So he just says _nah,_ as finely coarse as table sugar, plants another little kiss on his forehead. “I want to.”

It’s supposed to sound casual. It can’t, though, not for all the world.

Not for Ittetsu, who smiles all satisfied, purring with pursed lips. He gets to his knees, leaving Keishin with a kiss, and the motion is clambering, awkward, but however off-kilter it is, Ittetsu is _naked,_ parting soft thighs to kneel over him, and he is still completely stupefying.

Spellbinding, Ittetsu might say, and he’s always been good with his words, but at this moment Keishin feels properly _stupid._ It waves in him like drunkenness, like dozing off on a Sunday morning, like everything else Ittetsu has ever done to him, and Keishin looks up at him and sighs.

“Fuck,” he mumbles--his hands come up, reaching for Ittetsu’s thighs, dimpled with cellulite, stuttering over wide-spread hips to rest at his waist, palms unfurled to hold as much of him as possible.

Ittetsu just reaches down, giggling, to tousle his bleach-dry hair. “Aren’t you sweet?” he asks, but there is absolutely no answering because Keishin can smell him, warm and earthy and right, and his only recourse is to list his head aside, kiss frantically the spot where thigh meets knee.

The fingers in his hair uncurl, drag to trace the shell of his pierced ear, the angle of his jaw. It’s a slow touch, at the edge of caution, and Keishin huffs.

_Just fuck me up,_ he doesn’t say--or perhaps he does, because Ittetsu is laughing properly now, that hand darting up to clap across his mouth. Keishin watches the twitching of his abdomen, and is suddenly even worse-equipped to deal with how dearly he needs this.

There is justice in the world, though--Ittetsu sighs, and pets his cheek, and looks down at him with the most gloriously gentle face.

“Tell me if you can’t breathe,” he says.

_What if I don’t want to?_ thinks Keishin, but there isn’t time to voice it, scarcely time to do anything but slacken his jaw, open wide as Ittetsu shifts softly downward, guides him up until they’re pressed together again.

Keishin’s fingers scrabble at his hips, dipping down to his Adonis belt--he’s no recourse for the feel of it, the heat and humid softness, the perfect swell of Ittetsu’s cock against his tongue. The way he hitches, the staccato of his moves as he grinds down, just the littlest bit.

The way he _sounds--_ thunderstruck with comfort, the sound one might make on the first bite of a home-cooked dinner, the first steamy shower-spray.

_I did that,_ thinks Keishin, and almost cannot handle it. _I did that, and it’s not over yet, so I better stand and deliver._

He sighs all shuddering, laves the flat of his tongue across him, marveling at the soft-swollen slickness. Puts his mind to remembering how he’s done this, a scant handful of times--what worked, what surprised him, what earned him little gasps of praise.

Hits on it, after a second, and wonders at the canting of Ittetsu’s hips, the way his head tips back until that sweet face is out of sight. Fingers clench in his hair, but there’s a mildness to it, as if Ittetsu is afraid to hurt him. Keishin isn’t sure what’s headier, the thought of that hand wrenching at him, or the reality of its restraint. He hasn’t got the wherewithal to figure it out--just puts himself back to the task, panting, nuzzling at the thin-skinned crease of his thigh.

When Ittetsu looks down at him again, his eyes are glazey, his lower lip between his teeth. Keishin half-sobs at the sight of him, so gorgeous, and really does when Ittetsu brushes stray hair from his brow, calls him _precious Keishin._

“There you go,” he croons, “you’re really getting--ah, good at this!”

It’s a challenge to Keishin’s ear, and he’s helpless to do anything but take it. He forces his jaw wider, curls his tongue just so, drags him down deeper by the hips.

“Easy,” he says, on a tremoring breath. The thing is, though, Keishin can’t. It’s just the way of things--here he is with Ittetsu, and Ittetsu makes him soft and strange, makes him forget how to do things by halves.

His jaw aches.

He doesn’t _care._

He takes the little burl of Ittetsu’s cock between his lips, sucks at it, feels it throb against his tongue. Feels Ittetsu jolt, hears his rough-edged little cry, his blissful mumbling, “good, good boy.”

Keishin swallows, more for his composure than anything else, but it must be the right thing to do because Ittetsu’s thighs are clasping at him, clutching around his ears, and all he hears is blood-rush, distant keening.

He isn’t sure whose pulse it is--maybe it’s both of theirs--but it’s in him, deep and enfolding and there’s nothing he can do with it but shiver, gasp and spill himself tight-spasming, and even when the adrenalin quits, even when he’d usually turn to sleep or cigarettes or lazy kisses, there’s no way but forward, nowhere else he wants to go.

Ittetsu must know, because the hand in his hair unfurls, cradles what of him he can reach, petting soft over his scalp, his mussed hairline. A distant voice coos to him, and it’s only from past experience that Keishin can make out the words _there, yes, beautiful…!_

Keishin parts his lips wider, has at him like deepening a kiss, the kind that they steal in the syrupy half-drunk afterhours, the kind that makes his breath break deep in his chest. The kind that makes Ittetsu cling to him, and he is, he does, grasping with his thighs, his steepling shaking fingers, the grind of his hips and his faraway breathy little cries.

He laves at him, loves him, works him over with everything he can. Adores him, breathing scarce and hard and blissful, and doesn’t stop until Ittetsu’s weight wobbles against him, until he’s trembled full-bodied, until he’s come and come and come and ridden out every last whit of it against Keishin’s obliging tongue.

He doesn’t quite stop after that, either--only when Ittetsu slackens, shifts to clear some breathing space, to spread weight on quivering knees. Only when he smiles at him, bleary and brilliant, when that hand unfurls in his hair to stroke his slick cheek.

“Keishin,” he says, ragged like he’s run, “you are a _marvel.”_

There’s no helping a little twitch, then, a throb of his heart and of the rest of him, no helping the way he sighs and laughs and mouths at his innermost thigh.

“I try to be,” he responds, when he’s got words, and it is kind of astonishingly true, and Ittetsu _beams,_ scrambles to the side to gather him up, hold him as fast as exhausted arms allow. He kisses him, too, all over though his face is a mess, and it’s a long time before they can move for anything like a glass of water, a washcloth, a loaner pair of briefs.

And when Ittetsu’s had his fill of fussing, when they’ve half-drunk their tea and bundled up in bed, Ittetsu rests his head on Keishin’s breast and asks “was that too much? Too… overbearing?”

_“Yeah,”_ Keishin rasps, and breathes a laugh, because--

“Yeah, it was, you are, and _fuck me_ but I never, ever want you to stop.”

**Author's Note:**

> every time i sit down to write ukai the bastard shakes me by the shirt collar and hollers at me ARE YOU KIDDING??? I NEED TO SIMP _HARDER!!!!!!!!!!!!_
> 
> anyway thank you so much for reading, i really hope you enjoyed this--i hope it was as fun for you to read as it was for me to plot out and write, because i had a blast with this! 
> 
> comments and kudos make me weep with jubilation, and you can also come and hang out with me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/bird_scribbles) if you like, because i'm new to hq and i need more volleyboy friends!
> 
> have a good one! much love!


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